Labyrinth: Twisted Minds
by ZiggiiTwist
Summary: Years have passed since Sarah escaped the Labyrinth but Jareth has been unable to disentangle himself from his destructive memories of her. As his obsession spirals out of control, Sarah must once again elude his mind games... but is that what she wants?
1. Chapter 1

Good grief.

Life.

Not all it's cracked up to be.

Especially not now – not now King Jareth held the throne. And thus probably not ever – not until he decided to give it up – if he decided to give it up, and that seemed unlikely, what with all the fuss and commotion that had ensued upon his father's death. Civil war does something to a kingdom, and what it had done to Jareth's was harden his people against each other; no good would come of it. But then, as goblins, good was the one thing they weren't, well, good at.

But then, that was before _the girl_. She had done something to the Goblin King, changed him, tainted him deep beneath his pale flawless skin – deep in the heart that even Jareth himself had presumed withered and dead for so many years. Changed him, and then left – disappearing from the Underground like a dream.

Her absence had broken Jareth – left him empty; a husk of his former self. For a while he continued his rule as normal, building up a mirage of confidence and egotism, hiding his hurt behind his swagger, but soon he grew exhausted with the effort and allowed his obsession with the girl it's full reign, locking himself away from the world he ruled over and becoming further and further entwined in a web of impossible schemes and hopeless persuasions to ensnare the girl once again. And, make no mistake, this is what he craved above all else – to trap the bewitching girl, to seduce her, to look into her dark, innocent eyes and claim her as his. For he despised as well as adored her – in whatever twisted way a man like that could ever love a creature such as she. He hated her for resisting him, for brushing aside his mind games and escaping his Labyrinth as if it were a mere game – a 'piece of cake'. He loathed how her spirit had crawled inside his head, how he could close his eyes and trace every detail of her young, frightened face; how he longed once again to see her, touch her, hold her...

This would not do. Love – even the warped sense of it that Jareth possessed – is a strong and unruly emotion – an emotion that is not tolerated within the Underground, regardless of the position the unfortunate bearer of such passion may hold. From an early age citizens of the Underground were taught to quash this emotion – to fear and revile its omnipotent grip on the individual's body, mind and soul. Indeed, Jareth himself could barely suppress a shudder if he ever dared form the word 'love' in his head, so deeply entrenched was this unacceptable taboo.

And yet this was the word that he dared allow to echo round his mind when he dreamt of dark, soft hair falling in a frame round a pale face, and was unable to stop himself from reaching out to caress it. Or when the sinking light of the sun caught the crystal in the court chandeliers _just so_, recreating the light that once – oh so long ago – danced off the jewels embedded in that hair as her bewitching eyes found his in his twisted ballroom. Or even when he heard the arrogance in his own voice, and was reminded of the frown that had defied him, the eyes that had pleaded with him, the mouth – set in a firm, stubborn line – that had taunted him...

_Sarah..._

_Oh, Gods – Sarah, I ask for so little – why do you resist so?_

_Fear me, love me, and I will be your slave..._

"You have no power over me!"

Sarah awoke bolt upright, drenched in her own sweat, a chill from her unnerving dream still lingering over her body. She had been dreaming of him again – that would make it the third time this week – dreaming of a place she had tried to convince herself had never really existed, dreaming of a man she prayed nightly existed only inside her head.

Frantically, she peered around the shoebox she referred to as her room, staring intently into its various dark corners, almost daring the creatures she feared to come scuttling out from behind her bookshelf, from under her bed, perhaps entwined in a silk scarf – or was it a snake...?

Nothing stirred. Her room was as quiet and unassuming as her dream had been intense and bewildering. Sarah swung her legs off her bed and put her head in her hands.

She knew what Jareth wanted – had felt his fury, his sorrow, his desperate, pathetic longing within the confines of her dream. And yet she could never – must never – allow herself to feel pity for him, for she was certain that even the entertainment of such thoughts would lead to her entrapment within one of his many complex games. And make no mistake; trapped, imprisoned and at his mercy would be her fate if she were to let slip even an inch to the Goblin King's demands. He was a dangerous man, with an almost inhuman ruthlessness that he no longer bothered to hide behind his mismatched eyes.

_...I will be your slave..._

_...Sarah..._

* * *

This is only my first attempt at writing fanfic, so please be kind to me! Also, any ideas/ thoughts on how this story could develop would be much appreciated; I have a few of my own but it would be interesting to know what you think.

Review review review!

_Disclaimer: I own none of the characters that dwell in Jim Henson's epic 'Labyrinth'. All credit and glory belongs to the legend that is he and Mr. Bowie *sigh - girlish daydreams...*_


	2. Chapter 2

"Sarah? Sarah – are you with us?"

"Hmm?" the sound of her name was enough to encourage Sarah's mind back into her classroom.

"We were just discussing, Miss. Williams, a little thing referred to as 'The Cult of Personality', but by all means continue daydreaming – I'm sure inspiration for your dissertation will hit you soon enough if you stop trying altogether." Professor Ackerson's sharp words effectively cut to ribbons Sarah's preoccupation with last night's dream. Her ears burned, and she was certain that she was breaking out in that oh-so-attractive shade of scarlet that only aided in increasing her embarrassment.

Squirming, she mumbled her apologies and tried to focus on what little notes she had made of the lecture. Damn – there was nothing on the paper that she hadn't learned in high school. A jolt of dismay and irritation ran through her; a feeling only intensified upon stealing a furtive glance at her wristwatch and realising that the class had almost finished. How much of her work had she missed this time? How could she hope to complete this damn degree if she had any more weeks like this one?

Sighing, Sarah resolved to sneak a peek at Amy's – usually impeccable – notes after lunch, and forced herself to concentrate only on Ackerson and his musings on _'Stalinism and it's Effects'_.

"... and so, due to the conflicting interests of the authors of sources C and D, one must note how the _depth_ of belief and faith in Stalin held by the Russian people is not as analogous as one may first suspect. Indeed..."

Inwardly groaning, and resisting the urge to place her head on the table and sleep, Sarah gave up all hope of even attempting to catch up. She would just have to bribe Amy with a bigger drink than normal.

As a student of history, Sarah could not help but scold herself on this blatant lack of effort on her part; especially as the present module she was running – "Russia in the 20th Century" – was, as the less than amused Ackerson had guessed, likely to be the focus of the dreaded dissertation. But these last few weeks had been unsettling for Sarah. She couldn't focus on her classes, let alone her various assignments, and her friends were beginning to remark on her occasional 'outer body experiences' as they called them – moments when she would lose herself completely in her own thoughts.

She shook herself, cursing her own overindulgent imagination. That was what had got her into such a mess all those years ago – but no. She refused to even think about that – about something she could not yet explain away nor rationalise to herself. In the 6 years since her escape from – since The Incident (as she preferred to refer to it) – she had told no one of her experiences in... wherever she was. Apart from the obvious threat of the Asylum that appeared whenever one mentioned one's experiences in a magical Goblin City, Sarah's own shame at her selfish and petulant nature prevented her from ever truly facing her memories of the Underground.

_I wish the goblins would come and take you away. Right now._

Sarah's stomach clenched. She never allowed herself to remember those words, or what her childish behaviour had nearly cost her – her own brother. Since her escape from... that place... she had sworn to all the gods she knew that she would never _ever_ fall into that trap again; never allow her own weaknesses to ensnare those that she cared about.

And until now she had remained vigilant. She had stopped daydreaming; quashing the fantasy of escaping into a magical world in favour of succeeding in this one. She had tried to get along with her father and step-mother (or at least she had stopped trying to actively infuriate them), and she had realised how much she truly cared for Toby. In short, she had grown up – that was at least one positive thing she had taken from the Labyrinth.

But that was before this sudden onslaught of dreams – dreams that stirred her memories of the Underground, allowing them to brush off their cobwebs and flutter around her head as though she were a child once more. Sometimes they consisted of nothing more than a few flashes of the land itself – the dry, barren deserts, the jagged mountains, and, of course, the twisting mass of the Labyrinth. On occasion she saw creatures of that world – all of them different to her initial expectations, all of them as uncertain and treacherous as the great maze that surrounded their city. But recently it was neither the Underground nor its inhabitants that stole away Sarah's once restful nights. It was _him_ – could she even think his name without being certain he could hear it?

He was always alone – that was the one consistency she could rely upon. Always alone, and always so painfully beautiful. They often met within the throne room. There, surrounded by the chaotic debris left by his frenzied subjects, he waited for her, sometimes lounging on the throne itself – eyes mocking, lips twisting into a terrible smile as his mind concocted new puzzles and tricks to torment her with – sometimes sitting rigid, the muscles in his back and limbs clenched, his face a mask. Sometimes he paced – his features pale and drawn, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable; and occasionally he simply stood and looked upon her with such sorrow Sarah thought her own heart might break.

He played on her mind more often than she cared to think about, worming his way inside her head like a parasite and infecting her brain with his poison. Sarah had caught herself on more than one occasion seeing his own reflection in place of hers in a mirror, his mismatched eyes laughing at her shock – before her own image returned, startling her with its comparative mediocrity. She would see him in wine glasses, or catch a glimpse of golden hair in a park, or hear the melody of his voice in an actor on the radio. He was driving her mad – she wondered if this was his intension, or if, preferably, she was finally having some sort of breakdown. How long could she go on living like this? Living with the image of a man who made her very soul almost dizzy with fear – no, not fear; something more complex, more difficult to define...

_No! Don't focus on him! Don't say his name! Don't tempt him by entertaining his tricks of smoke and mirrors! You have no power over me!_

And suddenly Sarah was infuriated – who was this _memory _to taunt her in this way? To wind her up and run her down, as if she were a mere plaything? The familiar feeling of stubborn anger crept through her gut, seeping into her bones as she allowed herself the thought of perhaps ending this game; acknowledging her demon may finally lay him to rest.

But dare she say it? Dare she even think his name? She cleared her throat, suddenly nervous despite her bravado.

"Jareth..." the hoarse whisper escaped her throat, startling her thoughts back into some sort of order.

"What did you say?", the boy to her right phrased the question with an air of polite confusion.

"Huh? Oh, er, nothing – I was just talking to myself." Amidst the chaos that echoed round her own mind, Sarah had quite forgotten the quiet of the lecture room in which she was sitting. Red faced and almost laughing at her own absurdity, Sarah made a final attempt to concentrate on her notes before a bell signalled the end of the lecture. So much for clamping down on her imagination.

* * *

Deep within the Underground the sleeping Jareth's eyes snapped open.

So, she had Called him at last – he had felt the pride that had so fascinated him laced amongst the fear she associated with his name. A wicked grin sprang to his lips as the Goblin King saw at last the chance he had so desperately yearned for present itself to him; and the girl seemed to have lost none of her spark in the intervening years that had so drained him. Rising from the bed with an energy he had not felt so potently for what felt like an age, Jareth strode across his bedchambers, drawing a crystal out of the air as he did so.

_Now Sarah, let us see what you make of this..._

* * *

_Gah I've been editing and re-reading this chapter for about a week so I'm just publishing it and we'll see where it leads!_

_Thanks to all who have reviewed - keep them coming; they're much __appreciated_. Not sure when I'll next get the chance to update as I'm off to uni in two weeks! (Yeah, it seems like ages, but not when you are as unprepared as I)

_Once again, all glory to Lord Bowie, Duke Henson, and the chap who invented the semi-colon._


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